


August

by bitchnotbirch



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, don't know if I'll finish, there's a Whole Lot here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-06 02:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16823311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchnotbirch/pseuds/bitchnotbirch
Summary: August was supposed to be happy, a time of beaches and friendship and blue skies. But for Eddie Kaspbrak, the warm summer month had only ever brought tears. 1958, his friends Bill, Stan, Mike, Ben, Beverly and Richie… Richie… were terrorized by IT, an evil demon from another dimension. But that was a horror which had passed. His other wound, from just last year, was still fresh in his mind. He knew that it was a hurt which could never heal.Eddie Kaspbrak would never enjoy August.ORThe one where Richie left, and it's up to the Losers to figure out why. Also Eddie is v sad because boyfriends? and then one leaves? tragic.





	1. fresh wounds

August 1st, 1964

August was supposed to be happy, a time of beaches and friendship and blue skies. But for Eddie Kaspbrak, the warm summer month had only ever brought tears. 1958, his friends Bill, Stan, Mike, Ben, Beverly and Richie… Richie… were terrorized by IT, an evil demon from another dimension. But that was a horror which had passed. His other wound, from just last year, was still fresh in his mind. He knew that it was a hurt which could never heal.  


Eddie Kaspbrak would never enjoy August.  


This particular summer, 1964, was his first without Richie, his best friend and first love. Eddie had been unable to leave his house for most of the summer, preferring instead to wrap himself in a cocoon of blankets, living off stale bread and tea. Bill had tried to lure him out, bringing him spreads of food, breakfasts, huge dinners, but Eddie refused to eat what Bill brought, consuming only enough to stay alive. As the weeks wore on, he wasted away, until he was only a ghost of the former Eddie Kaspbrak. The first few weeks Eddie was frantic, searching, unable to accept that Richie was really gone. That he had just left. Richie wouldn’t do that, Eddie knew he wouldn’t. Something was wrong. So Eddie searched, surrounding himself with things that reminded himself of his lost love. As time passed it became unbearable to even see anything that reminded him of Richie, so the Hawaiian t-shirts were packed away, the blankets that smelled of him were washed until they bore no trace of the dark-haired, sarcastic man Eddie had come to love. Soon, if one walked into the former Tozier-Kaspbrak household, it would be impossible to tell anyone had ever lived there except for one lonely, depressed Edward Kaspbrak. The only remnant of Richie which Eddie didn’t pack away was a pair of coke bottle glasses. Those remained by Eddie’s bedside. They were not to be touched, or disturbed in any way. They were Richie, and Eddie would cherish them forever.

August 23rd, 1963

“Mornin’ Eds,” Richie mumbled into Eddie’s ear, rolling over to clasp him flush against his body, warm underneath the covers.  


“Thass not my name,” Eddie slurred, only just awake, but he turned around enough to press his lips firmly to Richie’s. “I love you so much,” he whispered, snuggling deeper into the covers, determined to stay cocooned in Richie’s embrace for as long as possible.  


“Awwww, is my little Eddie Spaghetti getting all sentimental on me?” Richie laughed, placing kisses on the top of Eddie’s curly brown head.  


“Mmmmm, shut up,” Eddie mumbled, already drifting off to sleep.  


After he was sure his boyfriend had slipped back into a slumber, Richie crawled out of bed, retucking it around Eddie, and tiptoed into the kitchen. He would make eggs and toast, and bacon! He would wake Eddie up to the smell of frying bacon. Above all, he just wanted to make Eddie happy. His little Eds, Eddie Spaghetti. Richie smiled to himself as he broke eggs and scrambled them. He loved Eddie so, so much.  


Eddie padded sleepily into the kitchen, yawning as he collapsed into a chair at the table.  


“And just for you, Eddie Spaghetti, good old chap that you are!” Richie cried in a bad British accent, turning around to place a plate heaping with Eddie’s favorite foods in front of him.  


“‘S not my name,” Eddie mumbled, too sleepy (not to mention too in love) to be angry.  


“Of course it’s not,” Richie said, as if it were the most obvious statement in the world. “That’s why it’s a nickname!”  


“I love you, you know,” Eddie said, turning his face to meet Richie’s. The taller boy’s smirk faded into a soft smile, his eyes melting under Eddie’s gaze.  


“I know.” Richie Tozier whispered back, catching Eddie’s lips with his own. 

August 23rd, 1964

“Hey, you okay, Eddie?” Beverly asked softly through the phone.  


“I’m fine, Bev,” Eddie replied, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. Eddie sighed, and as he did, the dam broke. Tears began streaming down his face, and his body was wracked with sobs.  


“You’re not fine,” Beverly said, and her tone brooked no argument. “I’m coming over there right now.” The phone clicked on the other side, and Eddie dropped his receiver, letting it clang down to hang against the side of his bed. He curled into a ball, and lay there, shaking. Exactly one year ago, Richie had held Eddie here, right in this spot. Richie had made him breakfast, had whispered words of love and adoration into his ear. And now he was gone. Eddie didn’t know how he had survived a full year without Richie, without his smile, without his terrible jokes, without him. And deep down, Eddie knew he almost didn’t. He hadn’t eaten in a full week. His body was wasting away. What once was Eddie Kaspbrak was now a shell of a human. He was fading away, and he knew that before long he would no longer be there. But Eddie couldn’t bring himself to care.


	2. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly talks to Eddie about Richie, and why he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiiii so I forgot when I first published this that I DIDN'T actually kill Richie, so this is less sad and also has less off-putting tags. yayyyyyyyyy so Richie left, but HE IS NOT DEAD I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH

August 23rd, 1964

“Tea is our top priority!” Bev called as she burst into Eddie’s apartment, armed with several boxes of tea and a deep desire to comfort her hurting friend.  


“Bev, I told you,” Eddie groaned, burrowing deeper into his nest of blankets, “I don’t need anything. I’m just tired.”  


“Bullshit,” Bev said, dropping the tea to plop down on Eddie’s mattress. “You’re not fine, and we all know it.”  


“All?” Eddie asked tentatively, peering out from his safe cocoon.  


“All,” Bev replied. “Everyone’s worried about you. I got three calls from Bill and Stan this morning, and Mike called me last night.”  


Eddie knew that. He himself had let his phone ring endlessly, ignoring his friends. He had felt a twinge of guilt, but he had pushed it down, simply returning to bed, to the comfort of warm blankets and soft pillows. “I’m fine,” Eddie muttered again, beginning to feel like a broken record. “I can take care of myself.”  


“I know, Eddie,” Bev said, her eyes softening. “That’s why I’m worried. You can talk to us, you know.  


“I know.” Eddie turned his face away again. He knew he wouldn’t reach out to Bev. He was broken, simple as that, and there was no way to fix it. Richie had been what completed him. Without Richie, Eddie was just a shell of his previous self. Eddie couldn’t remember a time in his life without Richie. Sure, when he was little he lived without the gangly dark haired man, but he had grown up with Richie. Spent his childhood with Richie. Richie was his first love. And my last, Eddie thought to himself morosely. There was no way he could ever fall in love after Richie.  


“You’ll get there, Eddie.”  


Eddie glanced up, surprised. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. Bev’s eyes were full of compassion. Of compassion, and of sympathy. Eddie hated that. He didn’t want to be pitied. He just wanted to be left alone.  


“I won’t, Bev,” Eddie said, breaking the prolonged silence. “I’m never going to be okay. Richie left. He left, Beverly. How am I supposed to be okay when the love of my life isn’t in it anymore?”  


“It’s been a year, Eddie,” Bev continued, plowing on. “Don’t you think it would do you good to get out of the house a little bit?”  


“No.”  


“Eddie, please,” Bev sighed, and Eddie could imagine her above him, running her fingers through her tangled mop of flaming red hair. “Just go out with us tonight. All the Losers will be there.”  


“I don’t think I can, Bev,” Eddie said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t love anyone else.”  


“You don’t have to pull,” Bev reasoned. “Please? Please, Eddie?”  


Eddie responded by burrowing deeper into the blankets.  


“Fine. Tea first, then,” Bev stated briskly, and Eddie suddenly felt the weight of her body leave his bed. The loss of someone beside him, even a friend, hit him like a knife in the heart, and he was suddenly plunged into a whirlpool of memory.

August 23rd, 1963

“I’m going to go get dressed,” Eddie murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Richie’s lips. “Game night, remember?”  


Richie merely nodded, and smiled at the shorter man. Eddie, focused on planning for the night ahead, missed the sad look in his boyfriend’s eyes.  


“I can’t wait to see everyone!” Eddie called over his shoulder, turning and bustling out of the kitchen and into the hall.  


“Right,” Richie muttered to himself. “Me too.” Once Richie heard their bedroom door click shut behind Eddie, he stood up, and removed from his pocket a piece of paper. He had scrawled a simple message on the paper a few hours ago, and he now left it resting on the kitchen table, at Eddie’s seat. He knew Eddie was sure to see it. Richie allowed his hand to linger for a moment on the table in front of where Eddie sat. His fingers traced the whorls in the wood, the place where Eddie slammed his knife down too hard when his mother came to visit, the place where Eddie had sat just last night, while Richie kissed him, really kissed him, for the last time.  


Tears pricked at the back of Richie’s eyes, threatening to fall. Squeezing his eyes shut, Richie let his fingers trail away from the paper and turned to leave the kitchen. He knew that if he stayed a minute longer, he wouldn’t be able to leave.  


Richie paused by the door, his hand resting on the knob. He could hear Eddie bustling around their room, and he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to stop the tears, to no avail. He reached out his hand, shaking, and as tears rolled down his face, he opened the door. His shoulders shaking with silent sobs, he softly closed the door behind him, and bypassing the car he shared with his Eddie Spaghetti, opened the door to the car waiting by the curb.  


“JFK Airport,” he choked out. The man behind the wheel merely nodded, and the old, beat-up car pulled away from the curb. Richie felt his stomach stir, but whether it was from the car, lurching around him, or the want for the man he had left behind him, he couldn’t tell.

August 23rd, 1964

Or, at least, that was what Eddie imagined had happened. He’d spent hours constructing scenarios, reliving that last morning with Richie. After all this time, Eddie still didn’t know how Richie had felt when he left. Eddie had no idea whether he had even cared about him. All that time, was he just pretending? Had the loud mouthed, dark haired man ever truly loved him? Eddie pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, refusing to cry. He’d spent a long time crying. A long, long time crying. Too much time.  


It was then that Beverly returned, bearing two mugs of tea, a bottle of honey precariously balanced on her left arm.  


“Here,” she murmured, handing Eddie his mug. “Chamomile.”  


“Thanks,” Eddie managed, his voice cracking. “Bev-”  


“What?” Bev let her am come down to rest on Eddie’s, her face warm and open.  


“I love you,” Eddie began, sniffling a little. “I love all of you, so much. I’m sorry I’ve been such a mess recently. I just-” Here Eddie paused to wipe his eyes, hating every tear which made its way down his face.  


“It’s okay,” Bev whispered, her eyes troubled. “It’s okay, Eddie. We love you too. All of us.”  


At that Eddie broke down. “I miss him, Bev,” he cried, ugly, heaving sobs wracking his small frame. He collapsed into her arms, and she skillfully caught him with her left, placing her tea next to his on the bedside table with her right. “I miss him so much,” Eddie sobbed. “I hate him too, Bev, I hate him so fucking much.”  


“No, you don’t, Eddie,” Bev said soothingly. “He hurt, you, yes, and that was shitty. Really shitty, but-”  


“Why did he leave?” Eddie was suddenly sitting upright again, his puffy eyes suddenly manic, his movements crazed and frantic. “Why did he have to leave? Why, Bev? Why?”  


“You know why, Eddie,” Bev said. “He wrote you that note, remember? The one you wouldn’t show any of us?” A trace of bitterness tainted her voice at that last statement, and Eddie wilted. He sagged, the energy sapped from his weak body, back against the pillows on his bed.  


“I wouldn’t show you because it was bullshit, Bev,” Eddie said, his voice soft and defeated. “He said that he needed to go, but he wouldn’t tell me why.”  


“Wait, what?” Bev was suddenly sitting up straight, and every fiber of her being radiated confusion and anger. “What the fuck?”  


“I know.” Eddie gave a wry smile, lifting one of his shoulders in a half shrug. “I guess I just wasn’t good enough for him.”  


“No.” Bev’s mouth was a hard line, her lips pressed together, whether in anger, or confusion, or what Eddie couldn’t tell. “No, I refuse to believe that Richie would do that. He loves you. Something’s wrong, Eddie. I just don’t know what it is yet.”  


“I guess I’ll never know,” Eddie sighed.  


“Bullshit,” Bev responded. “I’m going to find out what happened to Richie if it’s the last thing I do.”  


“Correction,” Eddie said, a weak smile gracing his tired, worn face. “We’re going to find out what happened to Richie.”

**Author's Note:**

> So.... probably trash? Don't know if I'll finish it but I thought I'd post it cuz why not I'm crying in club why not inflict it on you all
> 
> (no one will read this but anyway...)


End file.
